


Project Code 131793

by StrangeMischief



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2020-10-26 10:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeMischief/pseuds/StrangeMischief
Summary: “I-I can’t!” Stephen stuttered, struggling to process what he was hearing. “I don’t know magic. There’s no such thing!”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> As always, enjoy :3

_ Prologue _

There had been a time before here. A time of drinking champagne that cost a hundred dollars a glass while dining off a three-hundred-dollar plate of ribeye. A time where he could perform two flawless craniotomies in a day and still have time to slip downtown to woo a lively blonde or a mysterious brunette – or perhaps _both – _back to his apartment for the night.

It was a time he had been proud of. He had created his life from scratch – from nothing. Long gone was the musky scent of rich soil after the rain. Never again did he have to face endless fields of ripening crops, gently blowing in the breeze. He had moved on to something greater than the world of his childhood.

But that was then, and this was now.


	2. Project Code 131793

_ Project Code 131793 _

Stephen had never known such fear as _that _day.

He was out on his lunch break, walking towards his favorite sub shop while contemplating pushing back his 2:30 biopsy. The instance was one he’d lived countless times before. It was mundane. Average. Normal.

And then, the sky had opened.

Millions of alien beings poured from the sky in an endless sea of high-pitched screeches and explosive blasts. For a moment Stephen had stood frozen in the street as wave after wave of paralyzing terror crashed into him. His thoughts raced in a jumbled web of disbelief and the resounding need to _run. _

And he had run.

Stephen ran down the streets of Manhattan crashing into light posts, tripping over piles of rubble, and skidding around smoldering cars. He ran as blasts of light, arrows, and…_Captain America’s shield _sliced through the air. He ran as the sound of children screaming, men and woman crying desperately into their cellphones, and a redhead's repeated shout of, “Stark, where’s Thor?” echoed dully in his ears.

He ran despite his lungs howling for more air and his legs shrieking for a break. He ran regardless of his heart ceasing to beat for several moments when he saw the Hulk hopping between skyscrapers like New York was his personal jungle gym.

Stephen ran, and ran, and ran until hands shot out around a corner and hauled him around a corner. He hadn’t even had time to yelp in shock before something sharp was swiftly jammed into his neck, and a seductive warmth rushed through his veins. Stephen quickly slackened into his captures grip, drowning in sweet numbness that coursed through his body.

The doctor just barely registered the feeling of rubber mats sticking to his skin and tires squealing as the pedestrian shrieks, the roar of the Hulk, and even the fear faded away in the sweet oblivion that whisked him away.

\---

In the beginning, there had been two of them: a woman and himself.

Stephen had fought off the remnants of sleep and forced his eyes open to find he was laying on a thin cot that was strewn across concrete flooring. Four towering glass walls enclosed him into a space that was slightly larger than a closet. To the right of Stephen’s glass prison was a row of enclosed cells similar to his own. There were no windows or doors leading into the larger room that housed the cells, but rather a stone hallway that leads off into the dark unknown. The surrounding area was empty save a few empty desks, an unconscious woman in the cell next to Stephen’s and two men who were regarding their captives in a fashion not too dissimilar to how cultures leered at a dying animal.

“We could have taken more if we’d had a bit more time,” a blond built like a tank lamented. His voice was gruff and had what sounded like a strong German accent. “But then the damn Avengers were swarming all over the place, and we had to split before the nuke hit. Getting the jet out of there was a nightmare, though. It’s probably for the best we only snatched two.”

Stephen shifted on his cot, his still groggy mind struggling to process the heavy accent while piecing together what was being said. _Avengers? Nuke? Jet?_

“The Avengers?” the second man sneered. He was shorter in stature and wore a long white lab coat with glasses dangling from the breast pocket. His voice similar accented, though less prominent than the blond. “Is that what they’re being called now? Who came up with that?”

The blonde shrugged and leaned against one of the abandoned desks. “I think they did, Doctor List.”

“How delightfully juvenile,” a third voice laughed wickedly.

Stephen craned his neck, trying to get a better look without having to rise from his cot. A third man, dressed in black and sporting a single eyepiece emerged from the shadowy hallway, stopping to stand before the blond and the shorter man, Doctor List.

“Strucker,” Doctor List greeted with a respectful nod. “I hadn’t expected you so early. I hope you know the good news. Himmler,” List tilted his head towards the blond, “and his partners in New York took advantage of the chaos Loki created and found us two new subjects for the project.”

Strucker’s eyes darted towards the cells, fleetingly drifting over the two occupied cells before turning back towards Doctor List and Himmler. “How fortunate for us. If only Himmler had also succeeded in his primary mission and secured the scepter as well.”

Himmler looked absurdly fearful for a man twice Strucker’s size and ducked his head in submission. “My apologies, Herr Strucker. But the Avengers-”

“Are now in possession of the scepter,” Strucker finished coldly. “Regardless of Himmler’s mistake, Doctor List, you now have viable subjects. I see no reason for further delay. You will begin experimentation tomorrow.”

List sputtered and anxiously wove his fingers together at Strucker’s words. “With all due respect, Herr Strucker, I have serious misgivings about the developed serum’s effectiveness without the scepter. And the subjects! We have yet to do any preliminary exams to ensure that-”

“It will take us some time to retrieve the scepter,” Strucker dismissed forcefully. “It cannot be helped. We will have to bide our time. Until then, begin the project. If the serum is ineffective, then we will at least have learned something.”

“But, Strucker-” Doctor List began again before quickly being cut off a second time.

“_Now, _Doctor List,” Strucker snapped. “Begin with the woman,” he ordered sharply. “It’s believed to take better with them.”

\---

A few hours later Doctor List returned with two strongly built man and stopped in front of the woman’s cell. She had barely just woken and hadn’t been able to respond to Stephen’s frantic whispering asking her name, and if she knew where they were.

List took an ID card from his coat pocket and tapped it against a panel attached to the front wall of the cell and tugged the handle of the front glass panel, swinging open the door in one smooth move.

List and the two bulky men – guards, Stephen decided – slid into the room and approached to the woman who whimpered weakly from her cot.

“No need for that, my dear,” List soothed as the guards gathered her up off the ground. “It will be no more than a quick injection,” he assured the trembling woman, lovingly smoothing her fierce brown curls. “In a few hours you will begin anew, and, together, we will bring HYDRA back into the light.”

The guards dragged her down the hall with List trailing gleefully behind them. The woman kicked weakly and wailed miserably as she disappeared down the hallway, her desperate keens echoing down the hall long after her form was swallowed by the dark walkway into nothingness.

She never returned.

\---

Stephen pressed himself into the back of his cell and crushed his body into himself as if appearing smaller would somehow deter Strucker from staring as he was now.

“Why did it take three days?” Strucker snapped irritably, piercing gaze never leaving Stephen’s cowering form.

“She had a heart condition,” List explains, accent sounding thicker as he fidgets next to Strucker. “The stress brought by the serum exasperated her condition. We had to pause exposure after two hours and wait for normal cardiac rhythm to resume. It took some time. She was quite frightened, understandably.”

“And then?” Strucker’s voice, tight with anger, prompted.

“Administration continued. After six hours the serum successfully took to the subject.”

_“And?” _Strucker hissed, clenched fist quivering with anger.

“Two hours after administration completed the subject woke. She was…unstable. The power manifested far quicker than anticipated. She attempted to escape, and the guards moved to incapacitate her, and underestimated the force they were yielding.”

Strucker’s gaze finally moved from Stephen to settle heavily on Doctor List. “You allowed guards to kill a perfectly good specimen?” His voice was dangerously low, his words laced with unspoken threats.

“I-I,” List stuttered, stumbling backward into a desk. “I didn’t-”

“Your failures are monumental, List,” Strucker snapped, turning back to Stephen’s cell. “The Avengers are attempting to track down all our cells. We cannot afford any unexplained disappearances. We must utilize the subjects we have, and you killed _half _of them in less than a week!”

“The complications were unforeseen,” List argued, though his voice still held a quiver of fear. “The error of the first subject can be avoided easily. The experiment _was _successful. They serum _can _work. We will just have to…” the doctor broke off, his dark eyes skirting over Stephen’s hunched form as he struggled to find the appropriate word. “We will have to contain it better.”

Stucker’s head tilted in thought as he mulled over List’s words. “Ensure he is in appropriate health before you begin, Doctor List. I will be _most _disappointed should you kill this one too.”

\---

_You killed half of them. _

Stephen trembled like a leaf in the wind despite the internal mantra of, _stay still, stay still, stay still, _that ran rampant through his mind. With each quiver, the heavy metal of the gun being pressed into the back of his neck by a guard shifted, sending a new shock of wild terror through the man.

In front of Stephen, List tsked in disapproval at his prisoner’s inability to sit still. “It’s only blood,” List tutted, capping off the third tube of blood he’d drawn. “Only a few more left,” he added cheerfully while quickly snapping the fourth tube into place and watching it fill with blood.

_You killed half of them._

List hummed _Ava Maria _softly as he carefully watched Stephen’s heart stutter on a portable ultrasound. “A bit fast,” he sighed, jotting notes down on a chart.

The stubborn, sarcastic part of Stephen that had taken up so much of his personality wanted to dryly ask if it had anything to do with the unmistakable pressure of a gun’s barrel being held against his head. But the terrified, trembling mess of desperation that Stephen had become could do nothing but bit his lip and force his head to remain still.

_You killed half of them._

Stephen’s nude form shivered violently. He couldn’t tell if it was from freezing metal surgical table he’d been strapped to, or the critical way Strucker’s eyes raked over his gaunt body.

“Thin,” Strucker remarked off-handedly, looking only mildly interested as List rattled off the extensive number of procedures, he’d subjected Stephen to prior to today, ensuring his good health.

“He’s in perfect health, Strucker. He just refuses most food. The first subject’s failure will not be repeated, I assure you.”

Strucker nodded thoughtfully before drifting to the side of the room. He sunk into a leather chair that had been brought, crossing his legs as he leant back into the chair. “Begin, Doctor List.”

_You killed half of them._

List nodded eagerly and waved a guard holding a tray over. “Of course, Herr Strucker. First, we will document the project code on the specimen, and then we will proceed with the serum.” List reached for the tray and used clamps to grab a large metal block that vaguely resembled a stamp. It was thin but long and glowed red with heat. Though reversed, Stephen could make out the string of numbers that made up the stamp easily enough. _131793._

“Wait,” Stephen gasped, twisting against his bonds. “What are you going to do with tha-”

List’s arm swung out, backhanding Stephen with a stinging blow. “_Silence!” _he snapped. He pressed down on Stephen’s left arm and brought the heated stamp over, hovering tauntingly over Stephen’s pale skin. “I don’t want to hear a word from you, 131793, unless you’re spoken to.”

List slammed the brand into Stephen’s skin, grinning darkly as his subject shrieked and kicked beneath him.

_You killed half of them._

Stephen twisted with all his might, but it did little. All he could do was cry out as the brand seared into his skin and silently hope that once List administered the injection, the doctor would prove to have a perfect track record.

\---

Stephen dove in and out of consciousness, clammy, and covered in a sheen of sweat. _Fever. _Every so often he would flinch as a needle was jammed into his side or groan as List eagerly prompted him to say if he felt anything different, anything _more. _

But all Stephen felt was heat and pain. His skin felt like it was on fire. Every bone felt as if it were being broken and then pushed back together, only to be broken again. His ears rang sharply, and his closed eyes ached as if he’d been staring into the sun. Beneath his skin, Stephen’s blood felt like ice and molten lava all at once. His stomach churned and twisted painfully, and more than once Stephen feared he’d choke to death as his throat swelled and he gagged on nothingness.

“He’s rejecting it. It is consuming him”

Stephen could faintly make out Strucker’s disappointed voice through the shrill ring and pound of his racing pulse that hummed in his ears.

“He will die.”

Stephen grit his teeth and let out a sharp his in a mixture of agony and rage.

_Strucker_ was the reason he was here. _Strucker_ was the one that had demanded this be done. _Strucker_ had pushed this procedure. And now, _Strucker _was flippantly declaring Stephen was to die.

_He will die_, Strucker had sneered.

_I will live, _Stephen screamed internally as unconsciousness pulled at him once again. _I will live. I will live. I…I will…live._

\---

Stephen had barely been able to sit upright following List’s experiment when a pair of black sweatpants and a pullover hoodie were thrown in his lap, and he was demanded to dress.

Once clothed, Stephen was quickly pushed out of bed and out of the procedure room and into a second, smaller room that had a single rickety table and two wooden chairs. List sat eagerly in one, a basket of wooden blocks in his hands, and Strucker reclined against the wall behind him.

Stephen was roughly shoved into the empty chair by the guard, who stood close enough to Stephen’s back to make it clear his presences was meant to be threatening.

“I am pleased you’ve awoken well, 131793,” Doctor List smiled, eyes drifting over Stephen’s slouched form. “I’m sure you’ve already felt the serum’s effects. No doubt you want to experiment with them. We all look forward to what these trials may bring.”

Stephen squinted at List incredulously as the doctor excitedly placed two blocks on the table before him.

“Go on, 131793. Move them.”

Stephen eyed List wearily, wondering if the man had finally lost his wits. All of this to move two wooden blocks? He could have done this before. Stephen reached out and smoothly slid the two blocks across the table, giving List a scathing look as he did so.

Behind them, Strucker tutted in disapproval.

List’s jaw tightened. “Move it _without _touching it,” he ordered, slamming the blocks back in the center of the table. “Harness your inner energy. _Use your mind. _Call upon the power you’ve been given!”

“What are you talking about?” Stephen sputtered in disbelief. Had List gone insane? Was Stephen still strapped to the procedure table and this was just another fever dream? The guard behind Stephen whacked the back his head hard with his meaty hand, proving this was all too real.

“_Don’t talk back to me!_” List hissed, slamming his hands onto the table. “Use your magic! Move them using magic! I will not tolerate disobedience, 131793!”

“I-I can’t!” Stephen stuttered, struggling to process what he was hearing. “I don’t know _magic. _There’s no such thing!”

Strucker sighed and moved to leave the room. “Two for two,” he said pointedly, giving List a hard look before the heavy door slammed shut behind him.

List’s dark eyes snapped to Stephen, a burning fury consuming his expression. “Move. The. Blocks.” His words were laced with a warning that was undeniable. This was the last time he was giving Stephen the command.

Dread curled in the pit of Stephen’s stomach, and his heart flared with panic. “There’s nothing I can do! I don’t know magic!”

List’s gaze drifted over Stephen’s shoulder where the guard stood. Twin prongs were quickly thrust against the exposed skin of Stephen’s neck, and an electric current shot through his body.

Over his yelp of pain, Stephen could hear List once again give the command, “Move them!”

\---

The time blurred, and the trials continued longer than Stephen cared to account for. List brought different objects as if the size, shape, or color of an item would somehow make it easier to Stephen to magically move it across the table. Small balls, coins, pieces of candy, pens, and even a handful of feathers were placed before Stephen, but nothing so much as twitched regardless of Stephen’s attempts being effortful or not.

During the trials, Strucker rarely came to observe. But, on the occasion he did, Doctor List acted far crueler than usual and held Stephen at the table longer than he typically did. Worst of all, with each of Strucker’s visits, Doctor List grew increasingly desperate for results, and Stephen suffered for it.

Unfortunately, Strucker had chosen to make an appearance today.

“Try harder!” List demanded, only seconds after the guard had removed his tightly clenched fingers from Stephen’s throat. “You _will _make progress today.”

Stephen wheezed, struggling to regain a steady breath and held his hands over the smooth stones that had been presented to him. His arms trembled under the force of his taunt fingers, half curled in a form that resembled claws. “Move,” he whispered his near silent plea. “Please move. Just this once, please move. Twitch. Wiggle. Something. _Anything._”

List growled and snapped his fingers, and the electric wand the guard behind Stephen held was brought down on his collarbone. Searing pain shot through his body as it crackled with electricity, his brain lost for anything but white-hot pain.

“Please!” Stephen howled, jerking away from the wand the moment the currents stopped. “I’m trying. I _promise _I’m trying! I can’t do it. I can’t…I can’t, please, I can’t.”

“You _can_, 131793” List disagreed. “You just lack to proper motivation.” He held his hand out, and the guard dropped a silver instrument into the doctor’s hand. It was one Stephen was all too familiar with.

A scalpel.

Strong hands shot out from behind Stephen and snagged his wrists, slamming them into the table, inches away from where Doctor List was twirling the scalpel with a thunderous expression on his face.

“A man is nothing without his craft, _Doctor Strange_,” List hissed through clenched teeth, the dulled edge of the scalpel gliding smoothly over the backs of Stephen’s hands in chilling loops. “It gives him meaning. Purpose. Drive. You, unfortunately, will find yourself incapable of such fulfillment should you continue to hinder mine.”

“Don’t,” Stephen gasped, jerking against the guard’s hold in an attempt to yank his hands back to safety. “Don’t! I’m trying! I’m doing all I can!”

“_Try again,_” List snapped, grabbing the stone and slamming it between Stephen’s hands. “And pray you do better. This is your final chance, 131793. Do not disappoint me.”

Stephen drew his bottom lip in, biting it fiercely with his upper teeth as he stared intently at the stones. He willed them to move. He prayed they’d move. He dug deep within himself, searching for the alleged power List had granted him, and attempted to force it from his fingers and into the stone.

Nothing happened, and Stephen had never been closer to openly crying without pain being inflicted on him.

“Don’t make a threat if you don’t intend to carry it out, Doctor List,” Strucker sighed, seeming, as ever, bored with what he was watching. “131793 seems not to have taken the gravity of is situation to heart. Perhaps he needs to be reminded.”

List seemed to hesitate, and Stephen fleetingly allowed himself to feel a bit of hope that List might see his hands as vital to producing magic and leave them alone.

The hope was dashed as List’s hand drew back, scalpel held high above Stephen’s hand, before slamming it down fill force into his hand.

Stephen jerked in the chair and screamed in agony as his hand was whittled away at. List’s blow had landed just above his wrist, and the doctor was slowly dragging the blade up, across the back of Stephen’s hand and across his pointer finger.

“Again, _mein Krüppel. _Next will be the thumb.”

\---

Stephen jerked awake, scrambling from his cot instinctively as the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway across from his cell. The bare stone halls carried Strucker and List’s conversation from down the hallway long before they stepped into Stephen’s line of sight.

“We have only had the scepter for a few days, and we have already learned more than was accomplished in the last _century, _Doctor List. Now is a time for action! We must rerun the experiment and see if better results can be obtained.”

“131793 has already been exposed to the serum,” List rebuked. “A second exposure in combination with the scepter is a great risk to take with our only living subject.”

Strucker and Doctor List appeared at the mouth of the hallway and made their way towards Stephen’s cell. They gave little mind to the man pressed firmly into the glass corner, however, and continued their conversation as if he weren’t there.

“We have the scepter now!” Strucker shouted. “I want tests run _now_! We don’t know how long we will be able to keep it in our possession before either S.H.I.E.L.D or the Avengers come looking for it. The serum was missing something; the scepter’s power may be the final push he needs to access the power!”

“We don’t know how it could interact with the serum,” List protested firmly. “If it doesn’t work, we won’t know why! There will be too many confounding variables. And if it _kills_ him, then years of research would have been for nothing!”

“It _has _been for nothing!” Strucker snapped. “Look at him! Useless.”

For the first time since entering the room, the pair turned and acknowledged their captive’s existence. Strucker regarded Stephen with distaste while List’s expression held a sort of mournful disappointment.

“I will find new participants,” List offered with an air of dejection. “It is best to start with a clean slate. Give me three days, and if we can’t find anyone with potential by then, we will begin with 131793.”

\---

There were many things Doctor List was _not. _But he _was_ a man of conviction and a man of his word.

In the last hours of the third day of the doctor’s search, a young man and woman were brought down the hallway. A single guard walked lazily behind them, and List practically _danced _in front of them as he fervently spoke to them in a rough language Stephen was unfamiliar with.

At first, Stephen had thought the two unfamiliar faces to be members of HYDRA. They were escorted, not forced. The walked, weren’t dragged. Only one guard accompanied them, and he looked far more interested in his cuticles than anything the pair was doing. They were, from all appearances, here willingly.

But then List tapped his card against the keypads of the two empty cells closest to Stephen, and the pair walked in unperturbed. The man flopped down on the cot in the cell next to Stephen and kicked off his shoes. The woman carefully folded her coat and waved a timid goodbye to List and the guard as the retreated back down the hall.

Stephen sat on his cot, peering at the two new individuals in a mixture of shock and curiosity. The woman was petite with magnificent red hair, and the man was slender with shockingly white hair. He imagined they were related in some manner judging by the way the pair shifted towards their shared wall and spoke softly.

A large part of Stephen discouraged him from speaking to them. They had come in calmly. Too calmly. If List had found such collected subjects, there was a chance they were HYDRA themselves. But the temptation to talk to someone, _anyone, _when he wasn’t under threat of being carved into was so great that Stephen couldn’t resist the opportunity.

“Hello?” he called softly, voice hoarse and weak. “Do you…do you speak any English?”

The woman immediately shot him a distrusting look and moved further into the corner of her cell. The man looked less off-put by Stephen’s presence but seemed followed the woman’s lead, turning his back to Stephen and moving further away.

Stephen nodded sagely and slid across the floor to the back of his own glass prison. It took time getting used to being here.

That much he understood.

\---

He waited until the next day, shortly after a still half-asleep guard shoved the breakfast trays into their cells to try again.

“Why are you here?” Stephen asked the two new captives. He paused for a moment, shocked by the state of his own voice. It was gritty and low, like the sound of a withered bow being drawn across an out of tune string. “Where did they take you from?”

The pair exchanged glanced before turning towards him.

“Take us?” the woman repeated, seeming confused. Her voice was rich with an accent he couldn’t quite place, but that definitely differed from the tight, sharp intonation he had grown accustomed to hearing from the primarily German HYDRA staff. “We were not taken,” the woman scoffed, seeming amused by the idea. “We volunteered.”

Stephen shook his head in disbelief. He must have misheard her. It had been so long since someone talked to him and he chose to listen to their words. The words must have become jumbled in his mind. No one would come here _willingly. _No one would _offer _themselves to HYDRA_._

“I’m sorry,” Stephen asked quietly, “did you say you volunteered?”

“Yes.” She sounded thrilled. Honored, even_. _“They came to our village searching for those who could be become better. _More. _The doctor told my brother, Pietro,” her lithe fingers gestured vaguely to the young man at her side, “and I that we have_ potential_.” _Pride. _“We will become better. Stronger. Then, we will avenge our family.”

“I don’t think you understand what it is that they _do _here,” Stephen whispered warningly, leaning in closer to the glass the separated him from the siblings. “You must have been misled. List doesn’t want to-”

“131793!” List’s sharp bark echoed down the hall. “No fraternizing with the other subjects! Move away from the wall.”

The redhead's eyebrows quirked, and her cerulean eyes darted between Stephen and List as if something between the two didn’t quite fit in her mind.

The doctor’s towering form slid from the dim hallway and stopped in front of Stephen’s cell. His long shadow crept across the narrow space and swallowed Stephen’s frail body in its all-consuming darkness. “It is time for your trial, _mein Krüppel._”

Stephen gritted his teeth but said nothing. He had learned long ago which battles were worth fighting, and List’s cruel term of endearment wasn’t one of them. He stood slowly from the floor and moved towards the cell door, casting the siblings a look of farewell as he went.

\---

Stephen was dragged down the hallway what felt like hours later and dumped in his cell, the customary wet cloth, and a bundle of gauze tossed at his newly slivered hands by the guards before they retreated down the hallway.

Pietro rolled over on his cot and watched Stephen expertly scrubbed the half-dried blood from his hands before winding the gauze around his hands in a practiced move that could only be obtained after performing an action hundreds of times.

“Who did that?” Pietro asks, voice trembling slightly. His face looked troubled, and his shocked gaze was trained on Stephen’s ravaged hands. His eyes ran across the countless scars, some deep, some superficial, that crisscrossed across Stephen’s hands in poorly concealed horror. “_Why_ do they do that?”

“List,” Stephen grumbled distantly. He struggled to tie off the last of the gauze in his left hand before moving on to the right. “He is trying to provoke me and draw it out.”

“Blood?”

Stephen shook his head. “Magic.”

“But they are here to help us, not hurt us.” Pietro’s voice was stronger, firmer. His gaze turned for a moment to his sister who was sleeping soundly in her own cell. “They told Wanda and I they only wanted to guide people like us; they wanted to make us into our true selves.”

Stephen couldn’t repress the bitter bark of laughter that ripped from his sore throat. “Nothing, _nothing, _they do to you here will make you your _true _self, Pietro.” The younger man seemed confused, so Stephen elaborated. “Anything List will do…it will guide you _further_ from yourself than you were before.”

“You’re wrong,” Pietro denied, voice uncertain.

Stephen shook his head and fumbled with the ends of the gauze on his right hand. “You’ll see,” he sighed, turning his back to Pietro. He held his hands before himself, watching them rattle violently – a side effect of years of slicing through muscle and tissue with little time to heal in between cuts and nothing more than water and bandaging to repair the damage. “You’ll see.”

\---

Time passed, and the three prisoners formed a sort of kinship.

Pietro told Stephen about the charcoal drawings his father would carefully etch in the moonlight. Wanda would thrash in her sleep, tears streaming down her pale cheeks as she called for her parents. Stephen talked about New York as he knew it, saying he didn’t know if it was the same, or if it was even still there.

Wanda tearfully told Stephen how her village was bombed, and her parents died. Pietro whispered to Stephen long after Wanda had fallen asleep at night about his misgivings about HYDRA, about his worry for their future. Stephen talked about being a surgeon, how he could never go back, even if he somehow escaped from here.

“Why would you need to escape?” Pietro had asked. “If List’s experiment on you didn’t work, but his on Wanda and I _does _then why not just let you go?”

Stephen sighed deeply, and his shoulders sagged under the weight of what he knew was to come if what Pietro proposed came to pass. “I’m a loose end,” Stephen explained softly. “What are they going to do? Even if I were to never speak of any of this, people would still wonder. That’s enough to make them worry.”

“It’s unfair,” Pietro mumbled, eyes quickly sneaking a glance at Stephen’s scarred hands.

“Many things are unfair,” Stephen replied with a shrug.

\---

List ventured in randomly to run various tests on the twins. Sometimes he’d simply draw blood. Other times he took absurd measurements such as how far it was from shoulder to hip, or nose to toe. In between procedures he prattled on to the twins about how soon they’d have their turn with the serum with more excitement than Stephen had seen since the time of his own exposure.

After several days of this Stephen woke to find the pair had vanished. His heart clenched as memories of his own initiation into the experiment were heaved from the recesses of his mind. Cool metal on his back. The sharp prick of needles smoothly sliding under his skin. Intricate spirals of smoke dancing towards the ceiling. The stomach-twisting scent of burning flesh barely registering in his pain-hazed mind.

_You killed half of them._

Stephen closed his eyes and fell back onto his cot, silently hoping List would, for once, do something right.

\---

It didn’t take long for it to become apparent that the twins _did _have potential. The room that housed the cells was suddenly thrumming with activity. Wanda and Pietro were brought back to their cells in short order, and the workstations that had been collecting dust through Stephen’s entire imprisonment were cleared off. Dozens of HYDRA agents were constantly in the room documenting every waking moment of the twin’s day.

The twins were, in Stephen’s opinion, both extraordinarily gifted. However, Doctor List seemed less inclined to share his thinking, and only expressed interest in one of them.

Pietro’s super speed, though an astonishing breakthrough for HYDRA, didn’t quite have the pizazz that they were looking for.

But Wanda…Stephen snuck a glance around the edge of his sweater’s hood to watch her. The red-head laughed gleefully from her cell as, with a flick of her wrist, a set of blocks presented to her quickly stacked themselves atop one another, fell, and then restacked.

List instructed her to manipulate them further as he grabbed one of her wrists and watching hungrily as scarlet power whirled around her fingers and stroked the wooden blocks, sending them scurrying to stack into a pyramid.

“Excellent, my treasure,” List crooned, beckoning for the guard outside Wanda’s cell to open the door to allow him to slip out. “Keep practicing, tomorrow we shall try something a bit heavier.”

Wanda smiled winningly as List left, the blocks drifting aimlessly through the air without her paying them any mind. Her brother mumbled something in their mother tongue that, while Stephen hadn’t the faintest idea what it meant, sounded rather mocking and scornful, eliciting an obscene gesture from the red-head.

Stephen couldn’t help but grin and laugh weakly at their youthful behavior.

\---

The weeks drifted by quickly, and Wanda was progressing rapidly.

In some ways, Stephen was relieved. Her progress was his salvation. As soon as she had shown signs of magic List had ended Stephen’s trials in favor of hers. And though Stephen wouldn’t venture to call his relationship to Wanda a friendship, he enjoyed her company and didn’t wish for any harm to come to the young woman. Her quick manifestation of magic ensured her continued survival, as well as the survival of her brother.

In other ways, Stephen was terrified. Her progress was his slow execution. The stronger Wanda grew, the more disinterested in Stephen List became. The more Wanda’s pale fingers danced through the air, the longer List’s gaze lingered on the trembling lumps of gauze poking out from Stephen’s hoodie pocket. The brighter the magic glowed around Wanda’s palms, the more disdained List became at seeing Stephen.

Wanda was List’s treasure. His success.

Stephen was List’s cripple. His failure.

The sliver of the man that Stephen used to be understood not wanting to face one’s own failures.

\---

Something was happening. Something was wrong.

List came running down the corridor, shouting breathy commands in German to the various staff members in the room as he went. His subordinates quickly gathered their materials and darted, looks of panic painted across their faces.

“It is time for you to prove yourselves, my treasures,” List proclaimed, swiping his ID card across the keypads of Wanda and Pietro’s cells. The man was practically quivering with anticipation and hurriedly beckoned the twins from the cells. “We are under attack. Defend us well, and you will be greatly rewarded.”

Stephen frowned and shuffled to the front of his cell, curling his hands further into the pocket of his hoodie. A whisper of temptation blew through his mind, saying this was a chance. Surely anyone who would attack HYDRA was an opposing force? Someone good intentioned? He could surrender. Better yet, he could try and run and make it out on his own.

List turned at Stephen’s movement, looking momentarily shocked at him even being there before his expression twisted into one of sadistic humor. “Uh-uh, _mein Krüppel_,” List tsked, lip curling in amusement. “The twins have proven themselves _useful _and _worthy. _You have _not. _You’ll be staying here.”

“Wait!” Stephen called, a mangled hand shooting from the depths of his hoodie to press against the glass wall that made up the front of his prison. “I can do it! I can help! Please let me out; I promise if you give me another chance I can-”

“Your chances are up, 131793!” List snapped. “Your project has ended. My treasure, 2392038,” List reached out to loving tease out one of Wanda’s scarlet curls, “has proven to be highly successful in a matter of months. And 1916554, has been able to harness his talents as well. You have done _nothing._”

“Doctor List,” Stephen pleaded, ignoring the pain that radiated up his arms as he slammed his palms against his glass prison. “Don’t leave me here!”

“You needn’t worry, _mein Krüppel,_” List crooned, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Once the twins have succeeded in driving the invaders off, I will come collect whatever pieces they have left of you.”

List turned, ignoring Stephen’s fresh pleas, and Wanda eagerly strode after List, thin strands of magic already curling between her fingers.

Pietro hesitated, before darting over to stand in front of Stephen’s cell. “The invaders won’t reach you,” he reassured softly, resting his palm on the glass opposite Stephen’s hand. “Wanda and I will lead them away from here, and then I’ll come back for you, Stephen.”

“Boy!” List snapped from down the hall. “Come! Now!”

Pietro grimaced and mumbled a quick goodbye before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

\---

What sounded like footsteps echoed off the wall, but they lacked the familiar dull patter Stephen had grown accustomed to hearing bounce off the stone walls. Each step was heavy and gave off a metallic clang. As the source of the sound drew nearer, the sound grew louder, and Stephen couldn’t help but let a wisp of dreadful fear curl around him.

Whoever, _whatever, _was coming was not one of the twins and certainly not anyone from HYRDA. It was something different. Thoughts of List’s last words swirled through his mind_, _driving panic further to the forefront of Stephen’s mind. He quickly rolled off his cot and slipped into the furthest corner of his cell, praying the dim lighting of the room would offer enough darkness to obscure him from sight.

The resounding sound of the metallic steps came to a crest, and a towering metal man stepped out of the shadowy hall. Its head turned slowly, seemingly taking in the room – slim glass cells side by side with dozens of charts and medical monitors carelessly strewn before them – before it’s illuminated gaze settled on the last cell – Stephen’s.

The metal man walked forward, and a surprisingly human voice commanded, “Stay back.” The card panel was soon crushed like a soda can, and the man grabbed the door’s handle and ripped it from its hinges as if it were made of tissue paper rather than steel. He hurled it behind him without a care and stepped into the cell.

The robotic figure’s arm rose to its face a pried a portion of the faceplate off, revealing a man. His eyebrow was cut, and his cheekbone was bruised, but otherwise, he seemed to have slipped past HYDRA unscathed. Something about him looked familiar, but in a way that was so distant that Stephen could easily believe he imagined it.

“Hey there,” the man said. His tone was softer and more deliberate than before, making him sound the way someone spoke to a frightened child or a wounded animal. “There’s no need to be afraid. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Stephen swallowed hard and pressed himself further into the corner.

“What’s your name?” the man tried, offering a dazzling smile.

Stephen’s fingers subconsciously flitted to grip his arm to grip the welts hidden under his filthy hoodie. “131793.”

“No,” the man shook his head firmly, brown eyes darkening with anger. “Not what they call you, or the number they assigned you. _Your name_.”

“I-I’m Stephen,” he whispered lowly as if speaking his own name was an unforgivable sin. “Stephen Strange.”

“Stephen Strange?” the man asked, a look of mild amusement passing over his face. “…Really? Alright then. I’m Tony Stark.”

“Tony Stark?” Stephen mumbled his mind a mess of fragmented memories from a life so distant it seemed not his own. Newspaper clipping drifted through his mind, and he could vaguely recall here the name Stark mumbled by his surgical nurses during a particularly long neuro-endoscopy. “The guy that shoved a magnet in his chest?”

The man, Tony, abruptly broke into uncontrollable laughter. “That’s one way of putting it, yeah.” Dark eyes still sparkling with delight, Tony reached out for Stephen’s hand. “Come on, Stephen. Let’s blow this joint.”

Stephen had never known such excitement as that day.


End file.
